


Release me from the present

by wateryblooms



Series: Sherlock AU Challenge [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternative Universe: daemons, Betrayal, Consensual Daemon Touching, Daemons, Devaluation of platonic love, Gen, HDM universe, Mentions of Sherlock's family - Freeform, Witches, friendship's ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7838464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wateryblooms/pseuds/wateryblooms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What are you looking at?"</p>
<p>John's voice reaches him from behind, as he expected. He had heard his footsteps on the stairs, his unforgettable limp followed by the slow, painfully familiar steps of his wolfdog; the click of the handle being pushed down and the door, flowing on its hinges.</p>
<p>Sherlock moves slightly the curtain with his fingers, without looking away from the swirling clouds moving quickly under his eyes as if they were running away. A flock of birds flies through his visual and Sherlock suddenly feels an ancient and familiar weight sedimenting on his chest.</p>
<p>"The sky." He answers softly, without turning around. Nyeusi takes flight from his shoulder and perches on the chair, looking at John and the wolfdog grimly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release me from the present

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fiachra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiachra/gifts).



"What are you looking at?"

John's voice reaches him from behind, as he expected. He had heard his footsteps on the stairs, his unforgettable limp followed by the slow, painfully familiar steps of his wolfdog; the click of the handle being pushed down and the door, flowing on its hinges.

Sherlock moves slightly the curtain with his fingers, without looking away from the swirling clouds moving quickly under his eyes as if they were running away. A flock of birds flies through his visual and Sherlock suddenly feels an ancient and familiar weight sedimenting on his chest.

"The sky." He answers softly, without turning around. Nyeusi takes flight from his shoulder and perches on the chair, looking at John and the wolfdog grimly.

"I wouldn't have though you as the kind of man who gets lost observing the sky without reason." John mutters, hand scratching the back of his head, clearly embarrassed. Rayah wags her tail nervously, to match her human's attitude.

"John, my dæmon is a raven." Sherlock murmurs darkly, turning just enough to throw a frowning look at him: "What you're saying is utterly absurd."

_But after all, you've never understood what kind of man I truly am, have you?_ , he completes bitterly in his head.

"Listen...do you ever..." John stops, rubbing his hands nervously: "I don't know, have you ever had the impulse to fly? Reaching out for Nyeusi and simply..." he trails off: "It seems an absurdity, I know, but when Rayah starts to run, I wish I could simply follow her. And leave, and run, in the woods, where no one..."

"But I _do fly_." Sherlock shrugs, as if he was listening to a bunch of nonsense: "Nyeusi is me, if she flies, I fly with her, your argument is..."

"Leave it." John mutters, lowering his face. Although his voice is angry, the curve of his shoulders and the hard line of his jaw paint him as afflicted. A sculpture turned in on itself, a sculpture that Sherlock had loved watching at the height of its fury, or bursting with joy, and now, to his weary eyes, it seems nothing but a masterpiece tourned out wrong.

Rayah lies down on the floor, ears lowered. Sherlock can feel that Nyeusi'd like to land next to her, and peck the back of her hairy ears. His dæmon is still connected to the wolfdog, far more than he feels tied to John. And how could she be wrong. If he closes his eyes, he can still feel it, John's hand slowly stroking the head of his dæmon and the tingling sensation at the back of his neck.

_You touched Nyeusi and then you left_ , he can't help thinking, his heart beating with rage.

_You have deluded me into believing that for you, what we had, was something valuable. And then you follow to the first skirt you see. Because apparently what we could give was not enough._

He bites his thin lips and closes his hands behind his back.

"I was thinking about my mother."

John's eyebrows snap up in a surprised expression. Simultaneously Rayah pricks up her ears.

"I must have told you sometime that she's a witch." He continues, well aware that he hadn't. He feels a savage pleasure watching a spark of betrayal in the man's and the wolfdog's wide eyes.

"Your mother's a witch?" John asks, disbelief in his voice.

"And my father a human, yes. As you know, sons take human characteristics and daughters bewitched ones."

John spends a very long time in silence, his fists clenched and his eyes downcast.

"This is why your dæmon and Mycroft are birds? It is a part of your hereditary kit?"

Sherlock starts to pace, letting the curtain fall back to cover his heaven. Nyeusi is smoothing her feathers haughtily, but Sherlock can feel that she's fidgety.

_Do you really think taking revenge this way is a good thing?_ she asks, and Sherlock arches an eyebrow slightly in response.

"There is no scientific correlation, but it is a plausible hypothesis."

John exchanges a glance with Rayah for a millisecond; the wolfdog gets up and starts walking slowly in a circle around them, as if to circumvent the territory.

"And do you see her, often, your mother?"

Sherlock shrugs, deliberately careless: "Once every seven years, if all goes well. She and my sister pause for a moment their eternity and come to visit us, a few days apart from each other. They do not stay for long, just to make sure of the passing of our human life."

He does not elaborate further. He doesn't speak of the spark that he sees in his mother's eyes every time she looks at him, how she surrounds his face with her big, soft hands, looking into his eyes. Nor does he speak of how her great eagle lovingly pecks Nyeusi's feather, wiping them as if she was a pup. Nor does he speak of how his voice lacks in words, how only truth comes from his lips. He does not speak of the tears that veil her eyes when they have to part; how she regrets having to leave and would sell her bewitched nature to be able to spend only a few decades with his father and die of a mortal death.

The last time she had come, Sherlock had told her of the extraordinary military doctor who he had met and his wolfdog, and how they were radically changing their lives. He had spoken of acceptance, understanding, adventure. He had talked about how Rayah used to squat against Nyeusi in front of the fireplace in the evening, of how John used to follow him like a shadow through the cobbled streets of London, and about how that friendship seemed to work wonderfully.

What he would give to have a word with her now.

  
John stays for a few minutes more, chatting among himself about things of little importance, and observing his dæmon walking back and forth nervously around the room. It is painful to see him venturing out the door, but Sherlock's inner eyes have got used to that image - that will always be imprinted in his mind.

He takes a deep breath, looking Nyeusi tapping softly her beak on the window glass. He opens it, and the wind ruffles the curtains while his dæmon takes flight.

"Yes, John." He murmurs softly: "Sometimes I'd do anything to be able to fly."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry.  
> English being not my main language is old news so if you find any mistakes please let me know :)
> 
> The amazing Fiachra has made me a beautiful drawing for this fic. You can find it [here](http://artofaconsultingzoologist.tumblr.com/post/149412612446/a-flock-of-birds-flies-through-his-visual-and)
> 
> Seriously guys, check it out, it's amazing.


End file.
